As a huge fan of Vonnegut, I was looking forward to reading Breakfast of Champions as one of his most famous works beside Slaughterhouse Five. As always, he keeps his syntax and sentence structure fairly simple, which for me is a main component of the charm of his writing.
Breakfast of Champions was definitely not the most fun to read, though. This was by far the most sarcastic and/or cynical of Vonneguts novels that I have read, some parts of it have quite a dark turn to them, others get even scary. Especially the pieces, which are autobiographically inspired – for example, when he writes about his fear of actually having inherited his mothers schizophrenia – were sometimes borderline scary or desperate to read, which is quite unusual for his writing.
Sometimes, it felt like reading a manual on humans and their life on earth, written for a foreign species. The writing style is fairly simple, easy to understand and absolutely honest. Vonnegut himself added numerous drawings to his book, therefore it is by far the most excessively illustrated book I have ever seen (children’s books excluded, of course).
At some point, the book turns meta, introducing the narrator, who significantly calls himself „I, the author“ and who kind of participates in the story he himself creates.